Warrior: The War Chronicles I

by Sean Golden

  “What do you mean by ‘this age’ and ‘the cycle will repeat itself’?” Lirak asked.

  “I’m just a messenger Lirak, but I have to admit I have spent a long time pondering this prophecy, even though I don’t believe in destiny. What I think is that this prophecy says that all of this has happened before, and will happen again, and may have happened more times than you or I could possibly imagine in the past, and will happen again more times than we can imagine into the future. I also believe that there are agents involved who are manipulating things to make the prophecy come true, or to cause it to fail, in which case I hardly believe that to be ‘destiny’ at all.”

  “And what do you mean by ‘mortal and immortal’?” Lirak asked.

  “Well, that seems clear enough. You are mortal, but there are some on this earth who are immortal.”

  “You mean they live forever?” Lirak asked.

  Dedrik stopped and gave Lirak a sharp look. “Forever,” he said, as if the word itself tasted unpleasant. “How easily we use that word. How trivial it becomes. But it is a word that means nothing. It describes nothing. There is no forever. If you take one tiny bit of wisdom away from this meeting Lirak, take this. Nothing is forever.”

  Lirak felt bewildered by the sudden intensity in Dedrik’s voice, and the hints of pain and suffering the word seemed to cause him. But he said nothing and waited for Dedrik to continue.

  “Forever…” Dedrik muttered one more time. “No, an immortal is one who does not die from age. To be immortal is to be free from aging, but that doesn’t mean that anyone would want to live forever, or cannot be killed or destroyed through other means.”

  “I don’t believe there are any such things as ‘immortals’,” Lirak said.

  “You’ll learn otherwise,” Dedrik said. “There are many things on this earth that the Dwon have not seen, things such as dragons, unicorns, warlocks, demons, and much more. But if this prophecy is right, you’ll see them when the Testing Time is upon us.”

  Lirak pursed his lips and fingered the healing scars in his scalp, rolling the strange words over in his mind. “What else is there?” he asked.

  “Just this,” Dedrik said. “The one who will rise is said to be able to see his own future,” he paused. “He is said to be able to dream while awake, and to awaken in his own dreams. And when the need comes, his dreams will become reality.”

  Sometime during Dedrik’s talking, the rain had ceased to pound on the ceiling, and the light from the window had grown.

  “Tell me one more thing” Lirak said. “Who is this ‘one who will rise.’?”

  “That, my young friend, is the question, isn’t it?” Dedrik said.

  “Well, then what role do I play in this?” Lirak asked. “What is my purpose for being here and listening to all this?”

  “I don’t know, Lirak. You’ll have to determine for yourself whether to believe it, or not. My duty is to tell this prophecy to those who pass the test. Your duty is to take the firestones back to the village. That is as far as duty takes either of us. I won’t even try to tell you if you should share this information with anyone. But my role here is done for now. Your role is just beginning. I think you should stay here one more night, and get an early start tomorrow. If things work out for you, you should be able to cross the river and get over to the Gap by nightfall, and climb out of this valley the next day. I have some errands of my own to run, so I’ll leave you here. If you get hungry, there are cold seedcakes in the pantry; you’ll have no trouble finding them.” With that, Dedrik stood up.

  “Wait,” Lirak said. “This ‘Testing Time’ you speak of. How do we know when it begins?”

  Dedrik’s face darkened and his eyes narrowed. He glanced at the window for a moment and then sighed. “I’m afraid that it already has.” He tapped his pipe out into the fireplace and strode from the room. Lirak soon heard the front door close.

  Return

  Of the Seven, one is the Holder of Mystery. This one is named Rysdun. Rysdun is the Trickster and uses His magic in devious ways. His is the way of the sorcerer, the way of deception.

  – Dwon oral tradition

  Lirak sat for a long moment in the comfortable padded chair in Dedrik’s sitting room. The crackling of the fire slowed as the fire began to ebb. The smell of the pipe smoke was still strong in the room. His mind was reeling from the prophecy. It sounded unbelievable, but the images of his recurring dreams seemed to fit the story too well for Lirak to shrug it off.

  Finally Lirak stood and made his way back into the main room where the smell of tea and seedcakes still lingered. Dedrik was nowhere to be seen. Lirak was edgy and impatient. He returned to the room with the cot and gathered his things together. Then with a final look around the hut, he stepped into the damp aftermath of the afternoon thunderstorm. He could see Dedrik’s footprints heading off into the south. High above the clouds were breaking and blue sky was visible. To the east Lirak could see the thin black line of the crack in the face of the stone. He made his way in that direction.

  When he reached the crack he again fashioned a torch, finding dry tinder under the heavy branches of a fir tree, as he had done many times after rainstorms in his own forest. Lighting it, he made his way back into the crack, retrieving his sack full of firestones and hoisting it on his back. The cave seemed shorter than he remembered, and soon he emerged into the larger valley of the waterfall, which had also received heavy showers, but which was well lit by the sun, as the clouds were moving far off to the east. He wondered if his own village was receiving the thunderstorm’s fury at that moment.

  He quickly made his way back to the waterfall. The dead cat sprawled on the large broken stone. Pulling out his knife, he began to skin it. The task was difficult because the cat was large and heavy, but he managed to remove the skin from all but the paws. Stretching the skin out on the rock floor, Lirak weighed it down at the end of the arms, legs, tail and head with heavy rocks to keep it stretched. Then he returned to the cat. Working the fangs loose, he placed them on the rock table. He didn’t have the time to cure the pelt properly, but he could do that back at the village as long as the pelt didn’t begin to rot in the meantime, and removing all the soft tissue would prevent that, he hoped. Finally he folded the skin over and rolled it tightly up into a cylinder, tying it with some rawhide.

  That finished, he returned to the skinned carcass and removed the heart and liver. Exploring the wounds, he managed to work free the broken tip of his knife. This he cleaned and placed in his food pouch with a heavy sigh. The heart and liver he sliced into strips which he placed on the table rock as well. He then carefully removed all the cat’s claws, marveling at their size and sharpness. Finally he dragged the bloody mess of the cat’s carcass off the table rock and out from the waterfall, placing it in the middle of a patch of weeds. On his way back he gathered as much dry wood as he could find. He made several trips back and forth retrieving wood, dry or wet, and cutting some green branches as well.

  Back behind the waterfall, after a long rest to regain some strength, he built a small fire, and over it he constructed a rack with small branches. On this he laid the strips of meat, including liver and heart, then, as the fire became hot, he put some of the wet and green wood on the fire, bathing the strips of meat in smoke which swirled around before disappearing up behind the waterfall. This had taken him all afternoon to complete, and the sun was going down. Lirak again used some green branches and twigs to construct a makeshift bed.

  Breathing heavily Lirak realized that he was at the edge of exhaustion. His wounds were healing, but they had taken a heavy toll on his body. He cozied up to the warm fire, tossing some more branches on it to keep it burning. The warmth felt good on his sweaty skin. Finally he picked up the enormous fangs he had pulled from the cat’s skull. Each of them were as long as Lirak’s forearm. Wincing he pushed aside the thought of those fangs biting deep into his shoulder. He would find some use for them, but for now he placed them in his backpack and finally
lay down to sleep. Other than getting up a few times in the night to put more wood on the fire, his night was uneventful.

  The morning sun hit the waterfall directly, lighting up the area with flickering intensity. The falling water looked like a sheet of rainbow-speckled silver flame. Lirak ate a quick breakfast of some smoked heart and liver strips and then gathered his goods and prepared to leave. The strips of smoked meat went into his pack with what remained of his food. The pelt he tied below his quiver. With the pelt and the firestones on his back, he was carrying a heavy load, but he didn’t hesitate. As soon as he was ready, he made his way around the large boulder in the southern corner and ducked quickly through the water falling on the southern edge of the waterfall. Then he worked his way back to the trees, and further to the south.

  He had walked a long time from the river crossing before reaching the waterfall, but he had been wounded and frightened. He moved faster on the way back. After a while he worked his way to the eastern edge of the trees and began seeking for the island he had crossed. After several anxious moments he spotted it. Several times in the morning he had encountered deer, birds of several varieties and in the distance he saw the strange-antlered large grazing animals. But he encountered nothing more threatening than a few squirrels that threw pinecones at his head. Finding a stout branch, he used it as a walking stick, preparing for the river crossing ahead.

  He quickly crossed to the island, again brushing aside the numerous insects that gathered. His curing pelt particularly seemed to attract them. Looking upstream and downstream he saw nothing but the smoothly flowing river. Finally he decided he had no choice but to swim across. Taking off his quiver, pack and the sack of firestones, he tied his rope around them, tying the other end of the rope around his waist. Stepping into the river, the current seemed stronger than he remembered. He wondered if the thunderstorm had caused more water to flow down the river. He checked that all of his pouches and packs were tied down firmly as possible, and with a short cry at the coldness of the water, he discarded his walking stick, pushed off and began swimming as hard and fast as he could.

  The current grabbed him and swept him quickly downstream, but he moved across the current quickly too. Soon his hands touched bottom and he redoubled his efforts. The current was too strong for his feet to find purchase on the slick, slimy river rocks, so he looked downstream, looking for bushes he could grab to stop his headlong rush. Finally he managed to grab a firm branch, and pull himself out of the main current where he knelt again in knee-deep water. The current had swept him a few dozens of strides down from the island, but other than being a bit waterlogged and gaining a few new scrapes and bruises, he was safely on the east side of the river. As if to punctuate his success, an eagle cried out high above. His rope was still secure around his waist, and he used it to haul his things cross the river. The effort left him physically spent and he took a long rest, feeling a sort of lazy ennui as the day wore on. His body needed the rest though, especially before trying the long hike up and over The Gap. Finally feeling rested, it was early afternoon and he made his way back upstream to the boulders where he had rested the previous day. The Gap was, of course, unmistakable, a deep notch set between towering peaks on each side. He knew that it would be folly to try to climb over the Gap starting in the afternoon, so he intended to get as close to the base as possible, and camp there for the night, so he had a full day to tackle The Gap.

  It was a pleasant day. The air had been scrubbed fresh and clean by the previous day’s thunderstorm. Mists rose from the meadow, and raucous birds played tag in the air above. Occasionally deer would meander in and out of the meadows. Lirak had plenty of food in his bag, and had been refilling his water skin at every opportunity, so he needed nothing. If he had anything clouding his thoughts at all, it was that he would have to chip another blade for his knife when he got home. Eventually he reached the up-thrust slab of stone where he had camped the first night in the valley. Deciding that was a proper place to stay again, he set about making camping preparations, even though it was still fairly early in the afternoon.

  After getting a small fire going, he lay back on a fresh bed of leaves and boughs and began to let a drowsy feeling of laziness seep into his limbs. Listening to the sounds of the forest, allowing the sounds and the smells to permeate his thoughts, he relaxed in a warm sunbeam at the base of the large boulder. The ever present pain in his wounded shoulder finally subsided to a distant ache.

  But a sort of mewling sound, plaintive in a way, like a crying baby, intruded into his languor. Mildly annoyed, he sat up, trying to get a bearing on the sound. He stood and followed the sound, losing it several times. Finally he discovered it was coming from a jumbled pile of moss-covered stones. Looking closely he saw there was an opening between the stones, and the sound was coming from inside. Peering inside he could not see anything but shadows, and he wasn’t about to try to squeeze into it himself, although it looked like he could if he wanted to.

  A sharp, feral smell came from the opening, and Lirak was certain it was the den of the big female cat. At least one young mountain cat must be inside. He moved around downwind of the opening and spent a short time contemplating the situation. Then he headed back to his camp and picked up the cat’s pelt and unrolled it. Gently easing the pelt to lie upwind of the opening, he tossed a piece of his smoked goat meat he had brought from the village onto the unrolled pelt directly in front of the opening. Then he waited.

  The sound changed, and then stopped. After several moments a surprisingly large tawny head poked out of the opening. It sniffed the air, moving its head back and forth as if afraid to come out. Then it reached a paw out and touched the goat meat. It hesitated a moment, then came halfway out and grabbed the meat. It held the stick of meat between its paws and chewed on it while looking around. It soon devoured the meat and began sniffing the air again. It slowly crept forward and sniffed the pelt, and then it sat on its haunches on the pelt and began mewling again. Lirak guessed that the young cat’s head would reach his thigh if he were standing next to it. It was already at least as big as the forest cats Lirak knew.

  Lirak pulled another bit of goat meat out of his pouch, moving as slowly as possible. The cub was facing the other way and his movements were quiet enough that he was able to toss the piece of meat gently where it bounced off the pelt, and fell beside the cub. The cub was startled, but didn’t flee. Soon it smelled the meat and ate it too, and then it lay down on the pelt.

  Lirak decided not to waste any more of his food on the cub. He studied the large cub. It was probably old enough to forage on its own, if the mother had managed to teach it to do so. Hunger would drive it out of the den soon enough.

  Finally Lirak stood up, which startled the cub. The cub arched its back and pressed itself against the pelt, hissing and spitting at Lirak. Lirak moved around to the front of the den where the cub was now between him and the opening. The cub backed slowly off the pelt towards the den. As Lirak reached down and picked up the pelt, the cub spit and clawed at the air, but didn’t move. Lirak backed away and the cub took a few steps forward, and then stopped.

  “Good night and good luck young one” Lirak said. Then he turned and walked back to the camp. He saw no sign of the cub for the rest of the day. Finally he fell asleep.

  Lirak dreamed. It was an odd dream. In the dream he walked through the forest outside Luh-Yi. Beside him the great white one-horned beast walked, and on its back was… something or someone. Lirak could not clearly see the figure, no matter how hard he tried. At times it seemed a beautiful young woman sat there, but at other times it was like a cloud or like a stern woman with white feathery wings.

  You did well. Lirak heard the familiar voice which had whispered to him for so many years.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “What do you want?”

  A great conflict is brewing. I want to win.

  “What can I do?” Lirak asked, genuinely puzzled.

  You must learn and grow.

 
“Learn what?”

  Your place, your worth, your limits.

  “Why speak in riddles? Can you not tell me plainly?”

  Your own mind limits me. Trust me.

  “What is my place?”

  Vengeance. Defiance. Like you I am a blade maker. You will be my blade.

  “Your blade? What does that mean?”

  Learn to fight, my young warrior, with those words, Lirak found himself awake.

  Pulling his morning meal together, he was surprised to see the young cub lying next to the pelt, its eyes on his every move. As he pulled a piece of smoked heart out of his pouch, he felt the urge to turn his back on the cub, as if the cub could know that the meat had once been its mother. Pulling his knife out of its sheath he began to cut the meat, and almost dropped the blade when he realized it was miraculously whole. He looked at the knife blade in wonder and quickly checked his food pouch for the broken tip he had placed there, but it was gone. There was no crack, no sign of the break, his knife had somehow been restored as if it had never been broken.

  Kneeling down he held the knife before him. “Thank you Kathoias, accept my gratitude for this gift.”

  The blade will be needed he thought he heard the voice say, but nothing more.

  He then tossed his final piece of goat meat to the cub, put out the fire and prepared to leave. Again the cub hissed and spit at him as he picked up the pelt.

  “I’m sorry to leave you like this, but I have no choice” he told the young cub. Then he turned to leave. The cub waited a moment, and then began to follow him. Lirak walked briskly up the slope. As he walked the trees began to thin out, and soon there was little but stunted pine growing out of the cracks of rocks. He carefully studied the rocks and boulders before him, looking for the best way to climb back up between and around the cliff-like rock formations. Then he began to make his way up, hoping the cub would grow tired and turn around.